


The Grass Is Greener on the Otherside

by AndreaLyn



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambrose has come to collect DG so she can attend his wedding, but Cain manages to throw all of his plans off course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grass Is Greener on the Otherside

It had been two and a half long annuals.

Ambrose stood staring at a farmhouse (but not DG’s former home, which had fallen into a wreck in the very same storm that had brought her to her _true_ home). He’d been there with a satchel made of velvet for what felt like eternity, but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Every downstairs light in the house was on, but he could only make out one unmistakable silhouette – the likely reason for his hesitance.

It was four annuals since the double eclipse and two and a half since Cain volunteered (along with Jeb) to escort DG back to the Otherside and tidy up loose ends. There was the considerable work to ensure that Hank and Em’s presence was swept away and DG wanted to finish school and say a proper goodbye to all of her friends. Everyone in the O.Z. thought it might take an annual, maybe two. Soon enough, they would be pushing three.

Ambrose took a long, deep breath and finally willed his feet to move, managing to get from the gate to the front door. He was there on business, for nothing else. That was all he had to remind himself.

There was no doorbell to ring and he made do with knocking, even though the resulting sound came out weak and almost half-hearted.

“Jeb, how many times do I have to tell you--” Wyatt Cain sighed the words with frustration as he pulled open the door, “—to use the hid…” And that was it. That was all he got out before he saw who it really was and thick tension enveloped the both of them, keeping them in its grips with jaws to rival a Papay’s.

Finally, Ambrose managed a tiny smile. Cain stood there much unchanged from the last memory Ambrose had of him. He had a day’s worth of stubble and wore a loose pair of ‘sweats’ (as DG called them in her weekly missives to the O.Z.) along with a grey t-shirt. He looked _younger_ , as if the lack of a stressful life allowed the annuals to melt away.

“I thought you were Jeb,” Cain explained lamely.

“I noticed.”

Cain backed away from the door and gestured in behind him, beckoning Ambrose into the hearty house. It was small (only a kitchen, living room, and den on the first floor and three bedrooms on the second by the looks of it), but so filled with intimacy that it nearly bowled Ambrose over with how much he had missed being a part of that feeling.

“Where’s DG?” Ambrose asked, leaning on the frame of the door that led to the kitchen.

“Out,” Cain said, crossing his arms over his chest. It conveyed his awkwardness over the situation, but also managed to pull his shirt tighter and showed Ambrose that Cain had not wasted the annuals being lethargic. “She went to a friend’s stag night and Jeb’s spending the night at Jen’s house.” At Ambrose’s look of confusion, Cain cleared his throat. “His girlfriend. She’s from here. Sweet girl, works the farm with her folks.”

Ambrose wanted to ask how Cain felt about his son dating, but the question somehow became mangled on its way out of his mouth. “How long have they been seeing each other?”

“A full annual last month,” Cain clarified. “What are you doing here?”

Ambrose had known that question was bound to come; he just didn’t expect it so soon.

“I’m here to find out when DG is due to come back to the O.Z.” It was very formal and very precise. It was not personal, Ambrose kept reminding himself. It hadn’t been personal for two and a half annuals.

“Why the rush now?”

“The Queen wants her present at the wedding,” Ambrose explained dutifully, shifting his bag up higher on his shoulder.

“What wedding?”

Business. Just business. “Mine. To Lady Catherine of the Northlands of the O.Z.”

Ambrose didn’t know what he was expecting to happen. Knowing Cain, he knew what _wouldn’t_ happen (no tears, no gnashing of teeth, no hysterics), but the possibilities of what would happen seemed a hazy and unending area. Really, Ambrose should have known exactly what Cain would do, because what he did do suited him perfectly.

“She’ll be home by morning,” Cain said, no reaction on his face, nor in his eyes. “You can take my bed while you’re here.” And with that, he brushed past Ambrose and began to set up for the night on the couch, his back pointedly turned to Ambrose – a quiet signal that their conversation was done.

Ambrose nodded heavily and began his way up the stairs, only then realizing that Cain was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

*

Ambrose woke to a noisy house. Even though the door of Cain’s room was closed, the sound arrived right on through. The smells also drifted up enticingly – coffee and eggs and ham – and Ambrose could hear DG’s warm laughter accompanied by Jeb challenging her on something or other (still chuckling himself) and an unfamiliar female giggled softly every now and then. And then in the midst of it all were Cain’s warm tones, acting all the part of the doting father. Ambrose turned in his sheets and gave himself another moment to mentally prepare himself. The sheets smelled of Cain and the room was thick with his presence. Ambrose knew that the Cains had traversed East to collect their belongings before coming to the Otherside and they were easy to see within the room.

There were old lithographs of Adora and Jeb, carvings here and there, modern photos of DG, Jeb, and a young girl their age with thick strawberry-blonde hair, brown eyes, and a heavy smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Cain’s wedding ring hung from a chain off the corner of a large mirror as if a symbol of Adora being constantly by his side.

Ambrose stirred and roused, knowing that he could hesitate no longer and needed to descend the stairs and make his presence known. He had to wonder, really, if DG and Jeb had been told yet that he was there (and suspected Cain had either told them not to bother him or hadn’t told them at all).

He found out which of the two it was soon enough when he made his first appearance, only to be greeted by a cry of glee from DG and a heavy tackle that managed to turn into a hug.

“Oh, and Ambrose arrived last night around two,” Cain casually remarked, sipping from a perfectly plain white mug of coffee. He was leaning over and had one hand on the collar of an eager golden retriever, to keep him (or her?) from tackling Ambrose in excitement. It made up a perfect family portrait and for some reason, it made Ambrose feel all the more left out. Jeb waved to him and Ambrose offered a weak smile in return, as he was currently being slowly squeezed into a breathless stupor by DG.

“When did you get a dog?” he asked, when DG had released him enough to _breathe_.

“Her?” DG answered, still draped over Ambrose’s shoulder. “That’s Grayson. Cain found her in a newly abandoned house when she was just three months.”

“She likes DG and me,” Jeb fluidly interrupted.

“But she _loves_ Cain,” they both finished together and even Jen chimed in. Cain didn’t say a word, only kept hold of her and affectionately pet the dog’s fur.

“I’m Jen Appleby, by the way,” the unfamiliar (and yet now known) girl remarked, crossing the little kitchen to offer a hand to Ambrose. “I’ve heard some about you. Especially about how smart you are.”

“Dad and DG never shut up about it,” Jeb added sagely, which earned him a light smack from DG.

“So, why are you here now? What’s going on?” DG’s words were filled with concern and he immediately wished that he had at least assured DG that her family was safe, along with all their friends.

Before Ambrose could relay his news and his assurances of everyone’s well-being, however, Cain released Grayson – who charged happily to Ambrose’s side, licking both his hands and his pants copiously – and then also happened to announce, “Ambrose is getting married. Your mother wants you to attend the wedding.”

Ambrose noticed the look that passed between Jeb and DG, but chose not to say anything about it. Cain appeared to have missed it altogether.

DG tightened her grip on Ambrose’s arm, tugging him in the direction of the back screen-door. “C’mon, you can tell me all about your bride-to-be and I want to show you the crops.”

What choice did he have? He offered his goodbyes to Jeb and Jeb and prepared himself to hear more than he ever wanted to know about wheat, corn, and to answer question upon question about his fiancée.

*

In the kitchen, Jen took to soaking dirty dishes in the sink while Jeb stared relentlessly at Cain. His father was ignoring him to feed morsels of bread to Grayson (named for Adora’s maiden name). “Dad?” Jeb finally spoke.

“Whatever it is, son, I’m sure I don’t want to talk about it,” Cain warned. Jen appeared focused on her task, but every once in a while, would crane her neck in the direction of the conversation. “It’s his choice to get married, just like it was our choice to come here and I don’t regret it, not any day have I regretted it.”

“Did you ask him to come with?”

Cain nodded heavily. “His duties bind him to the Queen’s side.” He bent down and rubbed Grayson under her belly, locking up her leash as he did. “We’re going for a walk. Lock up if you leave,” he instructed.

“The Queen?” Jen whispered when Cain was gone. “I thought you’d moved in from a stint in Europe.”

Jeb took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll explain at dinner tonight,” h e swore, squeezing her hand lightly in additional comfort. “Trust me. And now…” That was all the warning he gave before he yanked open the porch screen door and went sprinting after Cain and Grayson.

It took a while to catch up, but eventually, he made it to their sides.

“Have you said anything to him, yet?” he asked, breathless from the task of making up the lost ground.

“What’s there to say?” Cain asked, evenly.

“Maybe start with ‘Hi, we missed you’ and then move on into the ‘why are you getting married’ part,” Jeb said, heavy sarcasm in his voice as he eyed his father. “Or are you over him? I think Miss Franklin would love to know if you’re on the market.”

“Jeb, it’s none of my business. And besides, it doesn’t matter.”

Cain wound the leash tightly around his wrist and started into a light jog, Grayson matching pace. Each stride took them further away from Jeb, who didn’t even bother to try and catch up this time.

Jeb didn’t understand what Cain had meant. He wouldn’t until later on in the evening.

*

DG had taken Ambrose first around the crops and then around the town before she deposited him back at the house. She hadn’t stayed with him though, straddling the seat of her motorcycle in order to run, “just a couple errands,” she’d promised. She even gave him one of the spare keys so he could come and go as he pleased while he was around. There were no cars outside the house, but Ambrose knew that he didn’t want to chance walking in on anything (was Jeb the kind of man who would do something in public? And that led to a thoroughly unpleasant place in his mind). Caution was best to be practiced. “Anyone home?” he called out, wandering towards the sound of very familiar music.

“In here,” Cain summoned and Ambrose turned the corner to find Cain sitting on the couch with Grayson in his lap, staring at an old record player sitting atop a table.

“I know this music,” Ambrose swore, hesitantly sitting himself down on the nearest seat (the room only had one couch and a two-seater). “I know I know it.”

“Before the Mystic Man went showbiz,” Cain said, the sarcasm thick in his voice, “this was the music he recorded to use for his sessions. They call it swing or jazz here. One of the two, but I can never remember.”

It was slow and soothing and somehow fit a pensive mood perfectly, but then, the Mystic Man had definitely known what he was doing, so why wouldn’t he pick the perfect music, too? Ambrose moved to speak, to comment about how well the three of them were fitting in on the Otherside, but instead, he announced, “You owe me a dance. Remember? I made you go to the royal dinner, but then you made me go hunting _and_ fishing and agreed to owe me a dance for it.” And the slow, careful beats of the Mystic Man’s music was perfect to dance to, as far as Ambrose was concerned.

Cain slowly seemed to consider that point and extended a hand out to Ambrose after lifting Grayson’s head from his lap. She whined plaintively and Ambrose commiserated greatly, as he knew the wonders of Cain’s lap, too.

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting married,” Cain mumbled the words as Ambrose took his hand and they began to dance little more than a soft and slow twirl between the pieces of furniture.

“Can we save that topic for later? Please?” The awkward words were accompanied by Ambrose sliding his palms down Cain’s back to grasp his behind (without even asking for permission and to his credit, Cain said absolutely nothing about it). “It’s not as though she’s madly in love with me,” Ambrose admitted, when no other topic filled the silence as they danced. “It’s to consolidate pieces of land and…and to have someone in the O.Z. who can withstand the kind of society that a man like you shunned.”

Cain gave a slow ‘hmm’, neither of agreement or disagreement.

“We’ve already negotiated the allowance of extramarital affairs.” At that, Ambrose tightened his grasp and pulled Cain closer to him. And Cain was looking anywhere but at Ambrose.

“If you’re planning to ask, you know the answer’s no,” Cain said icily. “I respect the sanctity of marriage too much.”

“I know,” Ambrose promised, sounding very distant and very sad at once. He had known, too, because he knew the strength of Cain’s character. Before he could confess to his second thoughts over the wedding (and how he wished Cain would push those over the edge), Jeb, Jen, and DG returned from wherever they had been. Grayson charged at them with excited yelps, breaking the mood quickly. Ambrose admired Cain more than ever for that moment. Rather than break hastily away, he simply turned, one arm still draped around Ambrose’s shoulder.

“So, did you talk?” Jeb asked, while Jen and DG’s affections were elsewhere on more canine-like forms.

“Yes,” Ambrose said at the same time that Cain said, “No.”

“I’ll get the coffee and tea going and then we’ll all of us talk,” Cain said, eyeing Jeb warily, as if to verify something. Ambrose then followed Cain’s gaze to Jen and the lightning bolt of an epiphany struck that this would be Jen’s first time hearing their mad story. He couldn’t help feeling so absolutely sorry for her and hopeful that it wouldn’t drive her away.

While the youngers began to make themselves at home, settling in, Ambrose excused himself to go and help Cain with the coffee.

“You can get the sugar and…” Cain began to say, but didn’t manage to finish before Ambrose grasped a fistful of Cain’s shirt and yanked him into a desperate kiss, glad that neither of them had been holding anything, seeing as Ambrose could feel his fingers and knees shaking, roughly at once. Cain was there in an instant, winding a strong hand to Ambrose’s back and kissing back with enough desire and strength that there was no mistaking that Cain wanted this, too. Whatever they once had wasn’t long lost. Maybe this was why Ambrose had come back, rather than sending a messenger. Maybe had returned to see what emotions lingered.

The coffee cups rattled as Cain backed Ambrose up to the counter and bent him over to kiss from a new, yet wholly familiar angle. They would probably have gone on from there to the bedroom if not for Jen calling to ask if they needed help. Cain backed away and Ambrose could see the regret in his eyes, though he didn’t know if it was about the kiss or about breaking the kiss.

“No, we’re coming,” Cain assured and took to pouring coffee into the cups (and Ambrose sighed in relief to see it was the cessation of the kiss he regretted). Of course, Cain was doing it with his arms around Ambrose (not that the kids could see, as Cain had maneuvered them into a blind spot). “We have to talk,” Cain insisted, low and quiet. “And I need you to get me a property map of the O.Z.”

“I have one in my papers. Not down to the minutest detail…”

“It’ll do,” Cain assured, easing back to pick up the tray. Ambrose noticed, with a smile, that Cain had managed to make everyone’s drinks just the way they liked them, too.

“Cain…”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Share the bed. With me. Tonight. I feel bad for pushing you to the couch,” Ambrose pleaded, his palms sweaty and he wiped them on the front of his trousers while staring at Cain expectantly.

“You sure you want a dog in bed with you?”

Ambrose’s face flickered with a flash of defensiveness, a bolt of anger. “You are _not_ a dog, Wyatt. You’re the most respectful, polite gentleman I’ve ever…” And Grayson nudged her cold nose against his palm, just then. “Oh. Right. The literal dog. She sleeps with you?”

“Every day since we met,” Cain agreed proudly, the affection bursting forth from both his expression and in his voice.

“That’s fine.” It was a small price, really, to pay for the familiarity of sharing a bed with Cain, again. Ambrose leaned over to place sugar and milk on the tray and to check the steadiness of Cain’s hands with his own before he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the fray.

*

They changed for the night on opposite sides of the bed in silence. Cain had wordlessly loaned Ambrose one of his shirts when Ambrose only had the one that was in wash. The conversation had lasted two hours and Jeb was currently sitting outside on the porch, trying to comfort a shell-shocked Jen.

Grayson was already reclined on the bed and finally, the silence could last no longer.

“I can’t believe you proposed just because you got lonely!”

“How could you be _staying_ here!”

They were both blurted out nearly together and both were rife with stricken tones. The conversation had become more than just an explanation of the O.Z. and their pasts when Jen had asked why, if Cain and Ambrose had been together, was Ambrose marrying someone else?

(The kids, bless them, had left the small loveseat for them and Cain had spent the whole conversation with his arm draped over Ambrose’s shoulder).

Ambrose had answered with the truth. Then she’d asked if that meant that they would all be returning to the O.Z. permanently after the wedding. Jeb and DG had given convincing ‘yes’s to match Ambrose’s, but Cain had simply shaken his head very slowly and said, ‘but not me’.

And there they were.

“You first,” Cain ordered. “Lonely? That’s the real reason? You got lonely?”

“The land issue is pertinent too,” Ambrose said haughtily, taking the left half of the bed, which Cain knew was _his_ side. “But yes, I was lonely. You three were here, Raw left to train young Viewers so the skills wouldn’t die out, Azkadellia was always in solitude and the Queen and Ahamo were flooded in work. Catherine kept me company. Now you,” he said darkly. “You’re staying? Why?”

“There’s nothing left in the O.Z. for me,” Cain said simply, getting into bed and reaching to turn the lights off. “And I knew this before you turned up with your news. I gave up on you after an annual without communication.”

They shifted and settled in the bed and wound up with Ambrose’s back to Cain’s front.

Neither of them said a word for a very long time. Eventually, Cain broke the silence, but only to say ‘goodnight’ before he fell asleep.

*

 

In the morning, Ambrose woke before Cain and spent several moments studying Cain’s sleeping profile, smiling drowsily before he rubbed away the cheer and reminded himself that he was due back in the O.Z. soon enough for his _wedding_. He crawled out of bed to dig through his things and pried out a large map of the O.Z., opening it on the table. This particular map divided each portion of the O.Z. into pieces of land, but did not use names for various legality and privacy reasons. From the table in the room, Ambrose watched Cain sprawl out comfortably on the bed, winding one arm over Grayson’s scruff. Ambrose stood there watching for what felt like hours, but was probably minutes before Cain roused.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Cain lazily greeted, sitting up to inspect the lay of the room. “Have to make the coffee and breakfast. What are you doing?”

“I have the map that you wanted to see.”

“After breakfast. I always said, nothing should get done before breakfast,” Cain recited that familiar old little rhetoric he was fond of and started to strip off his clothes in Ambrose’s full view. It was almost like someone had pushed a button and sent them right back into the depths of their previous relationship. Ambrose did try not to stare, but some things were unavoidable.

They ate breakfast alone – a note telling them that Jeb was at Jen’s and DG had an exam to attend. They discussed light pleasantries and Ambrose discovered that Cain now did private investigative work. Ambrose regaled Cain with comedic stories about the new nobility and counted the conversation a success when he managed to get Cain to fully tip his head back to laugh. When the last drops of coffee had been imbibed, Cain pushed himself away from the table, nodding to the stairs. He grasped a pencil as he went, which only added to Ambrose’s befuddled nature regarding the situation. He didn’t see fit to ask, though, when it seemed he would find out what was going on soon enough.

Once upstairs, Cain bent over the map and began to mark portions with neat, precise ‘x’s, explaining as he went. “This is what Adora’s willed me. Land my late father gave. This is the land my mother plans to give me, along with my land and the property we own and rented out in Central.” Cain eased back from the map to reveal what appeared to be a defensive wall around Central City in units of land. At Ambrose’s bewildered (yet curious) look, Cain went on. “We bought most of it when things went south and used it for Resistance outposts, but the property’s still legally mine. I checked before I came here.”

And there was plenty. It was a near continuous ring with outposts here and there. Ambrose stared at it all, looking for the meaning.

“Cain, I…”

“I turned down a knighthood before I came. But the Queen said if I change my mind, she’s still willing to bestow the honour on me.”

It was suddenly dizzying, Ambrose supposed, to have things come into clarity so staggeringly fast. He opened his mouth to speak, but shock and the desire to hear what came next stopped him. Cain was being very reasonable and matter-of-fact and it was greatly appreciated as it resonated more than if Cain had been emotional about it all.

“You’d have an heir in Jeb to pass all your assets to, as well. And Ambrose. Unlike Lady Catherine of the Northlands, I _do_ love you.”

The shock had yet to truly wear off and he continued to gape, only drawn from it when Cain set the pencil down, reached over, and took his hand. “You’re asking me to marry you,” Ambrose said, slightly wan.

“I’d always regret not offering it, yeah,” Cain agreed. “I don’t have a ring or anything, no pretty romantic words. Truthfully, I’m pretty angry yet that you never came to visit…”

“You didn’t write more than twice,” Ambrose mumbled under Cain’s words.

“…but I know the anger will pass.”

“I thought you said there was nothing left in the O.Z. for you,” Ambrose chose his words extremely carefully, squeezing Cain’s hand in his and always looking him in the eye.

“Jeb is a grown man now, DG has her family, but my belonging in the O.Z., my having a purpose there, that would change if you weren’t off married to someone else. I could still keep tabs more regularly on the kids, too,” Cain admitted. “Look, go back to the O.Z. today, think about it privately. I won’t hold it against you, no matter what you choose.” He slid his hand out of Ambrose’s and began to fold up the map very neatly and precisely. “We’ll all be there in three days to be at your wedding or to just come home. We’ll all honour whatever makes you happy, Ambrose. Even if that isn’t me anymore.”

*

Three days, Ambrose thought with a sigh as he landed from the travel storm with a loud ‘thump’.

“Good landing,” a familiar voice praised from nearby and Ambrose lit up like Central at night when he found Raw and Azkadellia waiting just to his side. He adjusted his satchel and nearly went bounding over, grabbing Raw for a tight and happy hug before kissing Azkadellia’s palm with a courteous bow.

“Princess,” Ambrose said, astounded. “You’re out in public.”

“Mother wanted me to greet you and Raw helped me,” she admitted, a high pink blush in her cheeks. Ambrose glanced to Raw, who simply offered a modest shrug and Ambrose wished for a Viewer’s skills to interpret the meaning of that rosy colour in Azkadellia’s cheeks. But really, it was none of his business.

“Raw heal more than visible wounds,” he explained, staring at Ambrose in a way that said he _knew_ something. “Cain,” he said, gravely. “All over you. Thoughts, feelings, regrets.” From over Raw’s shoulder, Azkadellia hid a smile as she reached out a pale hand (like a beautiful ghost of lore) and took Ambrose’s palm in hers.

She tucked her hand with hers and for the first time since the eclipse, Ambrose thought to himself that she looked peaceful. Content. Whoever or whatever’s doing this was, it was good for her. “Lady Catherine and Mother have papers for you to sign. And Raw thinks you have to talk to them.”

Sometimes, Ambrose suspected that DG had been wrong that day outside the Witch’s Tower. The smartest man in the O.Z. wasn’t a man at all, but rather, Raw had a tight grip on that title.

*

“Ow.”

There was a bark, then a whine. One was from a human being and one was most definitely not.

“Okay. Someone is on my foot.”

“Don’t look at me, Princess. I think Jeb’s elbow is on my windpipe,” was hissed out.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Did I mention the ‘ow’?” Jen remarked, prying herself from the ground and nudging one of the bags off of her stomach. She picked her knee off of DG’s foot and their landing party quickly rose to its feet as they reassembled and brushed themselves off from the fall.

“Where’d we land?” asked DG, trying to place herself as she spun around and around, staring to the canopy of the trees and the sky.

“I’d call it about twenty spans south of the Papay fields,” Cain estimated, shielding his gaze from the suns. “Two, three days walk back to the palace if there’s restoration going on and blocking our way.” The ensuing silence reminded them that they had been gone a very long time and that even to Jeb and Cain, who had lived full lives in the O.Z., that they were strangers now. “Anyway,” he said, making sure Grayson was at his side before he hefted up one of the heavier bags. “Let’s get going. Ambrose probably wants to get a move on with this wedding.”

*

Central was two days walking distance yet and during lunch in Milltown, Cain had pulled Jeb aside while DG introduced Jen to Hank and Em. Cain never quite let go of Jeb, one hand heavy on his shoulder the whole of the time. Whenever he could, he kept that tight grasp on Jeb, refusing to let go of his only son after he had found him again.

“Well?” Cain asked.

“Well, what?”

“I’ve been waiting a couple annuals, son, for grandchildren. Thing is, you generally have to propose before that can happen.” Jeb flushed pink with embarrassment and his eyes darted back to Jen – who was laughing warmly over something that Hank had said. Cain eyed Jeb carefully. “I know you both love each other and I know better than ever now that you should never waste your days.”

“I didn’t want to ask before she saw the O.Z. I want to stay here, but if she doesn’t, then why bother asking?” Jeb shrugged helplessly at that, reaching into his pocket to unveil a very familiar object to Cain. “Before Mom died, she entrusted it to some of the Resistance people who made sure it got to me. If all goes well, after the wedding, if she likes it here, I’m asking.”

For a long while, Cain didn’t react at all and then like clouds parting, a sunny smile broke through and Cain squeezed Jeb’s shoulder. “I like her a lot,” he said. “And I’m proud of you.”

“So did you ever talk with Ambrose?” Jeb asked curiously as they rejoined Milltown’s populace.

Cain made sure there was a large amount of distance between them and the others as he stopped their forward walk and took Jeb aside.

“What?” Jeb asked worriedly.

“I asked him to marry me. In a roundabout way, but I asked,” Cain said, as if confiding sensitive information to another Resistance scout.

“What?” Jeb blurted out. “So. Wait. He’s still getting married? And not to you?”

“I sent him back to think the offer over,” Cain admitted heavily. His shoulders were tense and it seemed like he was carrying around the tension of the question with him and would do so until he knew what answer was bound to come. “But I went and found a ring, just in case. The Queen’s salary wasn’t getting spent, so I got a nice little thing.”

“What if he says no?”

“Then it’s yours for your eventual wedding.”

Jeb’s laugh turned nervous, then. “That’s assuming I don’t get a ‘no’, too.”

“I don’t think you’re a Cain man until your heart’s out on the line,” Cain commiserated. “C’mon, I’ve lost track of my girl and I want to find her before we make the last leg into Central.” He gave Jeb’s shoulder a tight squeeze and they started their way back to the group.

*

Grayson was with Jeb and Jen, who had gone to settle in the Central apartment and DG was with her parents, catching up after a long time away. And there Cain stood (appearing to be without fear, but full of it) under the boughs of the most beautiful snowy white flowers in the O.Z. with painted-white wooden chairs to either side of him. Soft, warm breezes rocked white ribbons to and fro and blossoms gently glided to the ground.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a cultured female voice sounded from directly behind Cain.

He turned and bowed at the behest of some instinct within him. He was standing in the innermost circle of the O.Z. and people were either nobility, royalty, or close to someone important around those parts. Bowing was for the best.

“Don’t bow, Sir,” she chastised, eyeing him extremely critically. “I suspect you know me.”

“I could guess that you’re Lady Catherine,” Cain agreed, assessing her quietly. She was slightly older than Ambrose with pale skin (all nobility seemed to have pale skin, like they had to stay out of the suns in case they hurt them by existing) and brown-ringlet hair, but it was her piercing green eyes that really caught your attention. “I take it that means you know me, too.”

“Sir Wyatt Cain,” she seemed to delight in announcing.

“No ‘sir’,” Cain corrected.

“Well, no. You’ve yet to see the Queen.” He didn’t ask and she didn’t clarify and together, they stood staring at the gazebo that served as an altar and the ribbons of silk drifted left and right. “It’s a terrible shame,” she murmured, “that the guest list has been so severely curtailed. The gossips of the O.Z. say there won’t be a wedding of this level of beauty until one of the Princesses wed.”

Cain liked to think he was doing an admirable job of burying that quiet ache deep inside of him that said he was about to lose Ambrose to this woman, but it seemed to be roaring out, considering the circumstances.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

All Lady Catherine did was laugh until tears appeared in the corners of her eyes and her thin lips curved up in amusement. “Oh, that’s darling,” she said, with some sympathy. “Go see Ambrose, dear. I imagine you should have done that first, had your own curiosity not got the best of you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and offered a late curtsey to match his earlier bow before she continued along down the aisle to inspect the wedding arrangements.

 _Ambrose. What has he done now?_ Cain wondered as he reminded himself which way led to the personal chambers. He got lost twice (okay, three times actually), but no one was around to take notice. He’d remember Ambrose’s room until death, though, and stood there before that familiar door, just waiting. He listened to the footfalls inside and measured the worth of an immediate knock compared to a delayed one. And finally, he pressed a flat palm to the large wooden door and knocked once.

“Coming, coming. I’m coming! If you’re the florists, blue roses with the daffodils in the front and orchids lining the reception tables,” Ambrose narrated over the sound of frantic footsteps. “If you’re the caterer, nothing with chestnuts or almond oil, dessert is the lemon pastries and dinner is the fowl, and if you’re the musicians, nothing but a harp.” He yanked open the door, small name placards tumbling out of his hands as he did.

Cain arched a brow and without missing a beat, recited back to him, “Roses, daffodils, orchids. No almond oil or chestnuts. Lemon pastries and fowl and one harp alone.” He bent down to pick up several cards containing the names of Ambrose’s first cousins on them. “Breathe, Ambrose,” Cain advised, a palm on his back as he led Ambrose into a chaotic room filled with seating plans, samples, suits, and more. “What’s this about the numbers for the wedding changing?”

“Cain,” Ambrose nervously got out, eyes wide. “The scouts said you wouldn’t be here until the evening.”

“Jeb’s opening the apartment, so I came early. Looks like a fancy set-up you’ve got going on down there,” he appraised.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Ambrose lit up. “Oh, good,” he exhaled. “I was hoping you’d like it. Anyway, please. Come in, sit down. Do you want a drink?”

“What I want is for you to take a deep breath,” he warned Ambrose and was only contented when he watched Ambrose breathe deeply in and then out again. “Why does it matter…” Ambrose was shoving silk ties up against Cain’s face and muttering to himself, finally saying ‘blue’ aloud and folding it up in chiffon paper. “Ambrose, why does it matter if I like it? I’m pretty sure in events like this, you make sure the woman’s happy enough so as not to scream at you.” But Ambrose wasn’t listening. He was rifling through papers and documents and going ‘aha!’ loudly. “Ambrose!” Cain boomed, glaring sharply when he finally got Ambrose’s attention.

“You weren’t supposed to be here for hours. I’m behind on the planning,” Ambrose cited apologetically.

“What. For?” Cain very heavily got out.

“Our wedding, Cain. Wait. Did you hit your head too hard when you got here?” Ambrose asked, with genuine concern.

“No,” Cain carefully replied. “Did you hit yours?” The sheet of paper in Ambrose’s hand, Cain could tell, was the one that had all of his measurements on it. And _he_ was the one who was allergic to chestnuts, after all.

“You proposed. I was going to say yes tonight over a nice dinner and tell you that everything’s been planned, but you ruined all that, now didn’t you?” Ambrose remarked mildly, beginning to bustle about once more, so Cain grabbed his wrist with his right hand and unearthed a box with his left as he got down to one knee.

“No, this is proposing,” he corrected, nudging up the top of the box to reveal a ring. “Ambrose…”

“Yes.”

“You’re supposed to let me finish,” Cain snapped irritably. “Ambrose, will you marry me and since I already know the answer…” he trailed off, sliding the ring (made of platinum with two stones of tiny sapphire and diamond) onto Ambrose’s bare finger. He eased back to his feet and took Ambrose’s palm into his to just study the look of the ring. “Glad you didn’t notice me measuring your finger in your sleep.” Ambrose looked dazed, although his left foot seemed constantly rushing to get back to the planning. “So. Nice dinner?”

“Not until we’re done the plans,” said Ambrose The Authoritarian (a role which Cain happened to be extremely turned on by). “And now that you’re here, you can do half the work.”

“Joy,” Cain said sarcastically, but really, he was happy to do it and more. Ambrose had said _yes_.

*

“He’s really late,” Jeb observed to the surrounding group of Jen, DG, Azkadellia and Raw, all set around empty plates and mugs. They’d given up on waiting for Cain to return and began eating when the food started to chill and had even taken out the fine china in the Cain apartment, giving the home a good use after too long untouched. “Think they’re arguing?”

“Or something else,” DG said wickedly.

As if on cue, a key turned the latch and in stumbled (actually stumbled) Cain, trailed by Ambrose, who seemed much steadier on his feet and who instantly joined the group at the table. “He thought he could handle a third shot of Jinx.” Jinx was a local ritual. One shot gave the feeling of euphoria, two gave an ethereal out-of-body experience. Three was what men and boys did when challenged to or when looking to lose coordination of their limbs and control of their words. “He’s an idiot,” Ambrose added simply, but there was a lingering fondness in his tone. He dragged over a spare chair and sank down into it, amongst the group, sighing as all eyes were still on Cain (who was steadying himself on a nearby wall). “Wyatt, come here,” Ambrose patiently said.

“Was your talk that bad?” Azkadellia asked with quiet concern, following the path of Cain’s feet with her eyes on the chance that he might trip. He did trip, of course, but it was right into Ambrose’s lap, causing the chair to creak precariously. “Oh. I see.”

“Switch,” Cain ordered, lifting himself and quickly enough, they changed positions so that Cain sat in the chair and Ambrose straddled one of Cain’s legs like it was the arm of a couch. “Tell ‘em or I will,” Cain mumbled, the words sounding like some heavy dialect.

Ambrose, clearly still tipsy (he just appeared stone sober in direct comparison to Cain) slid off his platinum ring and unwound a polished silver ring from Cain’s hand, setting them both out on the table. “I made my choice. The wedding is still on.” He shrugged, like it was no big news. “We just changed the cast slightly.”

For some time, they were greeted with nothing but silence and then some unseen presence tipped the mood and Raw smiled, Azkadellia let out a beautiful laugh of joy and Jen and DG started sharing stories of bad bridesmaid dresses.

“Jeb?” Ambrose turned to the stunned man, in the midst of the hurricane of activity around them.

“So do you prefer Ambrose or Dad?” was Jeb’s answer, when the shock slid away. “I’ve never had a stepfather before.”

“I’ve never had a stepson,” Ambrose admitted in return, trying to ignore the way Cain’s hand was groping his behind. “We can figure it out together?” He swatted Cain’s hand away as he spoke and then kissed his cheek in a conciliatory gesture.

“Sounds good to me. Wanna help put Father to bed?” Jeb asked, already on his feet and helping Ambrose up, turning to the others without waiting for a response. “We’re putting Dad to bed and I imagine Ambrose with him, so say your goodnights now,” he advised, steadying Cain with a palm behind his back while Ambrose carried him at the waist. Choruses of ‘goodnight’ and a particularly amused ‘enjoy your hangover!’ from DG accompanied their walk to the main bedroom, having been set aside for Cain’s use.

“He’s pretty, y’know,” Cain slurred to Jeb. “This guy here. This husband guy. Oof,” he mumbled, falling onto the bed, yanking on Ambrose’s wrist. “Real pretty, right?”

“Sure, Dad. Why don’t you sleep this one off, huh?” Jeb spared Ambrose any too-long looks, seeing as the other man was already pink with embarrassment. Jeb tucked the covers up to Cain’s shoulders, just like his parents had once done for him when he was a boy. “You going to be okay to deal with him?” Jeb asked Ambrose, who was prying his hands from Cain’s iron grip and making his way to fetch water.

“I guess I ought to start learning,” Ambrose said, setting a whole jug of water on the bedside table. He sat himself beside Cain and began to very gently stroke his fingers on Jeb’s father’s forehead. “Go spend time with the others. We’ll see you tomorrow and don’t forget that the wedding is two days after that.” He paused, to offer Jeb a warm smile. “Wyatt wants you to be the best man,” he added, pitching his voice lower (seeing as Cain had passed out some time back and Ambrose didn’t seem to want to wake him). Jeb nodded to give his assent and on his way out of the room, the very last thing he heard was Ambrose’s quiet, “you know, I was only teasing about that third shot. You didn’t have to.”

And Cain, who they’d both thought was asleep, managed to startle them both with his quiet reply. “I’d do a lot more than that for you, too.”

*

Ambrose was collecting one of the fourteen dances that Cain apparently owed him (‘I calculated during a spare moment. They’re mostly from my Glitch days,’ he’d explained) as DG ascended the marble stairs to sit with Azkadellia upon the balcony. Her sister seemed busy self-consciously running a hand over her hair, again and again.

“You have a…” DG advised, gesturing with pinched fingers on her own cheek before she gave up and reached forward to pry a golden and coarse hair from Azkadellia’s gloss-stained lips. “Now I did _not_ see that one coming,” DG promised, smoothing her dress as she sat.

“Funnily enough, neither did he,” Azkadellia confided in a sisterly fashion, turning her gaze to the ballroom beneath. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it? Especially for being so rushed.”

Exhausted from her goodbyes back on the Otherside and the frantic pace of planning, DG set her head upon Azkadellia’s shoulder, sighing out a contented ‘mm-hmm’. They watched the dancers spinning around the floor and every so often, Azkadellia would smile and wave at Raw and then giggle softly about something that DG never asked about. Cain danced with Ambrose in the middle of it all and they simply swayed, caught up in their own conversation, by the looks of it.

“I’m glad they got their act together,” DG said, firmly. “So, when’s it your turn?”

“When did you turn into Mom?” Azkadellia asked, in the perfected style of an embarrassed young woman who was newly involved. “Let’s say, when you get serious with someone. That’s when.”

“Not just yet,” DG insisted, awake now as she felt like these words deserved to be spoken with full awareness. “There’s the whole O.Z. to see, a whole _world_ out there and now that I belong, I want to see what’s waiting for me. If I just settled down and let myself get caged into palace life, I’d always regret it and I don’t think of this place as just my home. I think the whole Realm is home and I want to see it all. I need to be independent for this. Just for a little while longer.” Her impassioned words delivered, she relaxed and sank back down to lean upon her sister’s shoulder. “Besides, I have to be single to be wooed by handsome suitors of the O.Z., right?”

“That’s my DG. Always focused on the important things,” Azkadellia said softly, fixing DG’s hair as they returned their attentions to the dance floor where dresses and suits created a moving piece of art that held their gaze.

*

He found her on the balcony of the apartment that he had only ever heard stories about. By the time he’d been born, they were permanently living in the country house. Central City was still in a state of restoration, still dull compared to its shining days as the O.Z.’s capital. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning over to kiss her hair. “Sorry, I’m late. They had me sign everything so I’m the official heir.” He sank down onto the bench beside her, shaking his head and scoffing in disbelief. “I can’t believe Dad got married again. I can’t believe Ambrose said yes so soon. Gods, I can’t even imagine the house for the first few months.” He waited for a reply and when there was none, he gave Jen a worried look. “Something’s wrong,” he interpreted by her silence. “What’d I do?”

“Jeb,” Jen said softly, a hint of a smile lurking on her lips. “I’m just letting you get it out. You’re so excited,” she praised. “And I think it’s so good that you care about your Dad so much. And I like hearing it.”

Jen’s own father was a step-father. Her birth father had left one night when Jen had only been three and she had come to love her step-father dearly. The frantic nights leading up to the wedding had been rife with Jen running her palm over Jeb’s back and allaying any of his fears with quiet whispers. She had encouraged him to talk, told him how it was strange at first, but became easy to love your new father. He indulged in the comfort she offered and took solace in the fact that just because he felt awkward about the situation didn’t mean he disapproved of it. “Are you still happy with us?” Jen asked, while Jeb was thinking back to the days of the wedding preparation.

So he _had_ done something. “Why would you ask that?” A question for a question. It was Resistance taught technique, but he would rather use that than stick his foot into his mouth.

“A little bit ago, DG told me something she wasn’t supposed to. We’d gone out to the club and she told me that you had an engagement ring and were planning to ask any day, but that was four months back,” Jen said, very carefully. “I don’t mean to rat out DG, it’s just that it’s sort of critical that you decide, soon. I mean…you don’t _have_ to, I mean,” she nervously got out. “It would just help with some things.”

Jeb could feel dual excitement and trepidation flooding him as he imagined that given what she’d just said, it was as good as a ‘yes’. At least, to him. To the O.Z.? That, he wasn’t sure of.

“If we could visit your parents once a week or so, would you be okay staying here?” he asked, finally decided to just take the direct route. “I was born here, I grew up here, now that it’s back on track, I want to stay here.”

“It’s a slice of heaven, just like Ambrose told me,” Jen assured, taking Jeb’s palm into both her hands. “I still can’t believe it was so bad only a short time ago. It just…it’s paradise. So long as I could visit home one weekend a month, I’d be more than happy to stay.”

Jeb knew, then, that he didn’t have to worry anymore and a boyish, trickster-like smile jumped forth as he stood in a hurry, digging through his pockets. A quick ‘aha!’ later and he was sinking down to one knee, clasping Jen’s hand. “This was the ring Dad gave to Mom,” he explained, watching Jen as tears slowly began to fill her eyes and Jeb couldn’t stop smiling, for the life of him. “She wore it right up until the end and I think it represents the devotion and love my parents had for each other. And I want it to represent the same for us, too. So, Jen Appleby, will you marry me?”

She nodded excitedly, yanking him to his feet as she kissed him intently. “Yes. Now, sit down before you keel over from nerves and we can talk some more.”

He obeyed.

And he was _more_ than happy to do so.

*

Cain dropped his keys on the table by the door, wandering into the main room of their Queen-given house. It bordered on the forests that led out to Milltown and the old Cain residence in the woods. It seemed private, but that had a lot to do with the large spans of yard and gardens it kept. After all, Cain was now knighted and Ambrose had always been a Lord. There was ample room for Grayson and for anything else they wanted to do.

The walking dead would have walked with more energy than Cain did as he entered the house. He walked straight to the study, kissed the top of Ambrose’s head, and sank down wearily onto the nearby chaise.

“Jeb signed the last papers today, so everything’s in order,” Ambrose said, twisting up in the chair and draping his legs over the arm. “Wyatt? You look like you saw Zero wandering about. Are you okay?” And if Zero was around and out of his jail cell, Ambrose had about twenty different ways to dispose of him without anyone finding out it was him.

“No, I just came in from seeing Jeb and Jen,” Cain assured, hands gripping the edge of the chaise until his knuckles turned white. “She’s wearing Adora’s ring, so Jeb finally got his act together and proposed.”

Ambrose climbed out of his chair, sinking down beside Cain, tugging on the other man by his shirt to coax his head down into his lap, stroking his fingers over and through Cain’s hair. “Did the ring bring back memories? Bad ones?” That was about the only reason he could come up with for Cain’s behaviour. He repositioned them so he could look down and find Cain looking back.

“No. No, it’s not that. I mean, sure, I joked with him about it, but I still expected it to be two to three annuals yet.”

“Before he got married?”

“No. Before I became a grandfather.”

That just about sent Ambrose into a state to match Cain. They were married two days back and had still yet to leave for their honeymoon and were not being confronted with every more life-altering news. “Step-grandfather already,” he said in a heavy state of shock. “Um.”

“Apparently, Jeb was just as surprised. They wanted kids, just didn’t expect them so soon,” Cain said, propping himself up until he could tug Ambrose to lie down with him. “She’s going to live in the O.Z. and they’ll stay in the Central apartment,” Cain continued, his shock giving way to pride and elation. “Apparently, she told Jeb after he proposed. Through sheer luck, too. They’d been careful.” And that didn’t surprise Ambrose in the least. Jeb was a Cain, through and through.

“Are you okay with this?” Ambrose got out past his own shock. “It’s a lot of events at once with us marrying, Jeb proposing, you becoming a dashing young grandfather.”

“No, it’s good. It’s good,” Cain said slowly, as if weighing the sincerity of the words, but after another repetition of them, it sounded like he genuinely meant them. “It means things continue, no matter which side we’re on.”

“Speaking of,” Ambrose said, twisting up their legs as he pushed his palm up over Cain’s chest. “How would you feel about a summer home? Maybe say…in Kansas?”

“I’d say you get a reward for even suggesting that,” Cain said seriously. It hadn’t taken very long for Ambrose to see how much Cain had genuinely loved the Otherside and how much he missed it, even though he was surrounded by his loved ones in the O.Z. “Are you sure?” He’d reclined and now sprawled out with Ambrose atop him while his palms lazily explored Ambrose’s back.

“Three months there. The rest of the annual here. Two homes,” Ambrose agreed and was very pleased to see that merited a slow, seemingly endless open-mouthed kiss.

The reward only got better from there.

*

Ambrose taught Politics and Cain continued his detective work in the time they spent in the little house in Kansas. The home became something of a visitor’s haven on the Otherside for Ozians during those months and the guest rooms were never empty. Cain was happiest when Jeb and Jen visited with young Adora, but no one ever held it against him.

Ambrose woke in the main bedroom an annual after the first time he did and traced the room with his eyes half-open. There were lithographs, yet, carvings, but now there were photos of the two of them and books and papers to mark Ambrose’s presence. He could feel Cain stirring beneath his arm and turned to kiss the meeting point of jaw and neck and just study the man with him under the light of the rising sun.

It was as comfortable as it had been ever since the wedding and Ambrose knew that he’d made the right decision.

“Everything okay?” Cain tiredly mumbled, shifting enough to wrap his arms around Ambrose’s waist and kick off the covers.

Ambrose smiled warmly, a nearly blissful smile to the ceiling as he nodded and let his head rest back on the pillow. “Just thinking that there’s no place like home.”

THE END


End file.
